


Stories of the Second Self: Bloodhounds

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [114]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom, social justice - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Three and a half years after being publicly identified as the first supernatural, Mark went on to a regular life. However, a letter from the former high school bully, Ron informs him that organized 'silverings' of werewolves is getting worse. The letter further directs Mark to reach out to another werewolf named Jerrod Conner, who's brother was also a victim of a hate crime. Mark and Jerrod investigate Ron's information and come across the Akron Community Center and delve into a deeper world of semi-legal power struggles.
Series: Alter Idem [114]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Bloodhounds

A lot happened in the last three and a half years that Mark never could've imagined. The frequency with which people did double-takes on seeing him diminished to near zero, though on the streets of Norwood he was still known as The First. It earned him street cred, and even Ridgewood Pack members paid due respects, despite his often refusal to join.

Mark had gotten his own place since graduating high school, but that was largely due to his parents making themselves scarce after it became public that they had kidnapped him. On occasion he'd get letters from them, indicating that if they weren't in Cincinnati they at least were close enough for restored postal service to cross the gap.

Yet, when Mark unlocked his mailbox, he noticed the hand-written envelop showing Ron's name instead. Ron was the high school baseball star who initially tried to bully Mark. Heading back to the house, where he rented a room, Mark started opening the envelop, braking a couple times to sniff around the seal to get a sense of Ron's circumstances when he wrote it.

"Same cologne as cop use, but about seven different varieties," Mark said to himself while pulling out the letter.

He stopped in his tracks on seeing the first couple of lines:

'Hey, I screwed up, and not about all that shit in school. I'm in Madison Correctional Institution, and I've been hearing things in here about what's going on around town.  
'Dude, there's talk of organized silverings of werewolves. One in particular that the guys in the yard are saying isn't solved. It's some guy around our age named Michael Conner. Story is, they found him in some fast food place in Silverton, so the police were saying it's pack-related.  
'Here's the deal, through, okay? The dude was out of a pack for almost a year. Word is, that Ridgewood Pack let that slide because his brother was a National Guardsman who fought in the occupation. It's like they respect him for it, even though he was kicking their asses, so they don't start no shit with him.  
'So anyway, bud, I need you to get the note that's in this envelop to Jerrod Conner. Don't know where the dude lives, but he's a werewolf too, and so he's gotta be listed with BPA and the city. I'm giving this to you, because you're about the baddest howler I can think of, and that's even compared to me.  
'Don't ask how I ended up doing time here. Just know that the Werewolf Weapons Possession Ordnance is some bullshit. I'm sorry about what I did to you back in school, but in a weird way I'm glad you handled me the way you did. Who knows what I've have been like had you not stood up to me.'

-Howlers for life, bro: Ron

The name, Michael Connor was somewhat familiar to Mark from the news, but he had no idea who this Jerrod was. Hackles rising on Mark's neck suggested he should find out, though. Going through the envelop, he saw the small irregularly torn piece of paper with the note Ron wrote about.

On it were a couple addresses that Mark found hard to read, and maybe a name. On the other side was written Akron Community Center.

"Well, shit if I'm goin' to Akron," Mark said aloud to himself.

Once inside the house, Mark went for his room and closed the door. In Norwood, the practice of werewolves renting rooms to other werewolves grew, and rent didn't always have to be paid in cash or check. With the world steadily turning against howlers, they were learning to stick together.

Mark pulled out his phone and started doing internet searches. To date, access mostly was limited to Hamilton County, because most satellites either didn't work anymore, or just fell out of the sky. A state-wide revitalization program was underway to restore the net across Ohio using landlines and cell towers, but it was still sketchy and intermittent.

True to what Ron told him, Mark found Jerrod Connor as a registered werewolf, and he lived in Norwood. However, Mark couldn't just go there now. He had work for the afternoon. Except, getting his florescent green work coat, Mark noticed his normally dark brown skin graying up as his nails started to recede and bristly fur sprout.

Concentrating to stay cool, Mark curtailed his transformation, though he learned to trust when things like that happened. He realized that Ron's letter was important enough to do something about it now. With that, Mark called into work to take the day off, stating vaguely that an emergency had come up.

Mark then got into his car and drove to where Jerrod Connor lived. He arrived there to see a guy pulling into the driveway on a motorcycle. Parking on the roadside, Mark got out and noticed a subtle ear shift from the biker.

"Do I know you?" the guy asked Mark.

"No," Mark replied, "And I don't know you. Someone I knew in high school sent me a letter than included this piece of paper that he said needed to come to someone named Jerrod Connor."

"That's me," Jerrod said, and turned to accept the piece of paper and the letter it came with.

Mark stood silently as Jerrod read, and then the werewolf Guardsman looked up. "Was there anything else this Ron guy gave you?"

"No," Mark shook his hand, but then went for his back pocket. "The envelop it came in is all."

Mark figured Jerrod would want to examine it the way he had before opening. Jerrod also sniffed at the envelop, but seemed to get something out of it that Mark hadn't.

"Do you know any of the people who handled this?" Jerrod asked.

"Not one," Mark answered, and shrugged, "Other than I'm guessing they're prison guards. Also," Mark had a thought, "What's Akron Community Center?"

Jerrod looked away, but Mark could see the name rang a bell and rang it rather loudly in Jerrod's mind.

"Son of a--," Jerrod breathed, and then faced Mark again. "You wouldn't happen to have the day free, would you?"

"Called in from work before I came here," Mark conveyed his willingness to oblige. "I got all night and all weekend."

"Thanks," Jerrod offered in appreciation and held out his fist for a bump from Mark, before he ran into his house. "I'll be right back out."

When Jerrod returned Mark noticed that he wore something under his shirt that was more firm, like body armor, and that Mark smelled oils commonly used to maintain guns. Mark didn't say anything about it, when he went around to the driver side to get in.

Jerrod climbed in, after Mark unlocked the door, and then Jerrod paused before saying, "You're that Mark kid from the news, right?"

"Yeap," Mark admitted with a nod.

"Jerrod," he said, and offered his hand. "And thanks for this."

"Which address do you want to go to first?" Mark asked, feeling that no thanks were needed for a fellow howler in need.

"This one here," Jerrod said, passing over a new note with legible addresses.

Mark pulled into the road in the general direction. It led to Montgomery, which was north and east of Deer Park. That required Mark diverting around Silverton, however, and the winter sun set before they got there.

"That's what they meant," Mark realized, seeing the building front which read, 'Akron Community Center.'

"Wasn't here last year," Jerrod stated, and got out.

Following suit, Mark hurried around to walk at Jerrod's side and ask him, "So, what do they do?"

"Far as I know, they're an activist group out of Akron," Jerrod answered, and shook his head. "But, something tells me it's a little more than that."

Jerrod went up to the door and looked in. Lights were on in back rooms, but not the reception area. Mark tried the door, and found it unlocked.

"Guess they're still open," Mark observed and pulled the door back more.

"Wait," Jerrod stayed with a hand, as his other reached for the gun he hid under his shirt.

Mark heard Velcro rip free, and then saw the handgun that had been holstered onto the vest Jerrod was wearing. "What the hell, I don't need to get arrested over this."

"It's just in case," Jerrod assured, before going in.

The two werewolves stood in the darkened reception lobby, but then someone from the back rooms poked their head out. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes," Jerrod began saying, and looked around while putting the handgun away. "I was directed to come here, but didn't think you were available at this hour."

The woman strode out. "We're always available to help, night or day."

"Why's this called the Akron Community Center?" Mark wondered.

"The First," that was the moment she recognized Mark and held out a hand. "Laura Gomez."

"Uhh-- yeah, Mark," he replied and shook her hand.

"We all know you here," Laura said, "Your high school biology teacher, Mrs. Draper volunteers here."

"Really," Mark said, surprised at the connection.

"Can I show you this?" Jerrod asked, holding up the letter.

"Sure," Laura replied, accepting the letter and the scrap of paper. "Hmm, never met this Ron."

"I knew him in high school, so I guess he decided to send that to me," Mark explained, "What's that other address?"

"It's an old Unified Dojos place for martial arts," Laura explained, "It was bought out by Arron and Ophelia Jackson, who use it as a quoon to teach traditional forms of Kung-Fu along with the Moon Style for werewolves."

"My parents taught me a little Moon Style for a couple years," Mark said, "Didn't realize it was that wide spread."

"It was first developed in Akron," Laura revealed.

Jerrod's micro-expressions revealed he wanted to get the conversation back on track. "This letter seemed to suggest that Ron knew who murdered my little brother."

"Only that he heard rumors," Laura corrected, "but they coincide with what we've learned about hate crimes."

Mark caught something in her demeanor before she even started reading, and asked about it. "What kind of community center are we talking about here?"

"It's pointless to lie to one of our own," Laura answered, still reading before she added, "Yes, we're not just a bunch of activists collecting donations for court cases, and getting werewolves out of Pack Life."

"Look," Jerrod said, seeming testy, but not at Laura. "If this shit is some inter-Pentacaste war, you gotta know that'll land the city toward being federally occupied again."

"No one is more aware of that then we are," Laura agreed, "That's why we're taking softer proactive steps first. But, the spike in silverings isn't an accident. I wasn't expecting two of you here, but I was advised to have this ready if you, Jerrod ever showed up needing it."

With that, Laura passed the letter back to Mark and the note to Jerrod before going toward one of the back rooms.

"Akron's not just some street pack, is it?" Mark asked.

"From what I can tell, no," Jerrod said, and then looked around. "Whoever they are, they got a lot of backing. Lotta whispering went around in my Guard unit after the occupation, and some of the howlers got in with this Akron Community Coalition."

"Soldiers?" Mark asked.

"Solders, cops, lawyers, government workers, and pretty much anyone else with skills to offer," Jerrod said, "If they're following this I'm guessing it's bigger than just a bunch of stuck-up Silverton pricks who didn't see shit when my baby bro was gettin' shivved."

"Here we go," Laura said, coming back with a couple packages. "Jerrod, we're willing to help you, but... if you're able, we'd like your help too."

"What're those?" Mark wondered.

Jerrod turned one of the boxes over to study the image of the BodyGuard gloves. "It's a self-defense device. Has a taser and some other shit on it that's useful. I saw MP's using this back on-post."

"I thought you said you only had one," Mark said, noticing the other box also had an armored taser glove.

Jerrod turned it over before chuckling, "Yeah, that's funny. Right-handed."

"Why's that funny?" Mark inquired.

"They don't make these right-handed," Jerrod said, as he opened the right-handed marked box.

What slid out wasn't exactly as advertised on the package. The taser prongs were absent, but Mark realized the retracted blade was meant for more severe self-defense than the left-handed device.

"One set," Laura clarified to Mark, but cast her steady gaze at Jerrod.

"This is because of the post-occupation gun restrictions, isn't it?" Jerrod asked.

"Partly," Laura alluded, and then pointed to the left-handed glove. "We found that high voltage can dispel most magic. Whatever magic is, it's something technology can deal with," and then Laura turned to Mark. "Look, I know this is all new to you, but it would mean a lot to us if you were willing to volunteer also."

"I'd rather know more about you guys before that," Mark warily replied.

"Because of who you are, I'm sure Harris and Mingan Blakesley would be willing to broach the subject with you in person," Laura answered, then took a post-it and a pen from the reception desk. "Can I give them your contact information?"

Mark stared at her with a quizzical expression that included a subtle cocking of the head, as he would've done in his therianthropic phase. She was being as straight with him as she could be, and the mentioning of this Blakesley couple seemed a big deal, given that Mark knew nothing of the Akron Community Coalition.

"Yeah, okay," Mark acceded.

No stranger to stepping into big things, Mark nonetheless saw this as something larger than simply stopping a mass shooting with his bare hands, that is to say, wolf-handed.


End file.
